


ship-killer

by TomBowline



Series: Tommy's OWOT2020 fills [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lighthouse Keepers, Canon Era, Ficlet, Gen, Gothic Elements, M/M, OWOT2020, One Week of Terror, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27105694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline
Summary: The wind was screaming tonight, and the waves crashed harsh and frighteningly familiar on the rock of their little island.My offering for One Week of Terror Day 1: "Haunted" + "It's just the wind."
Relationships: Henry Collins & Harry D. S. Goodsir
Series: Tommy's OWOT2020 fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978441
Kudos: 14
Collections: One Week of Terror 2020





	ship-killer

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a larger fic idea based on [this Terror_exe tweet](https://twitter.com/terror_exe/status/1311473915064127491), but I thought I would use OWOT to get comfortable with the space before embarking on the full fic. Basically, the premise is that Goodsir and Collins are both lighthouse keepers with troubled pasts - Goodsir the unorthodox scientist, Collins the former sailor - and they find themselves drawn to each other even as their pasts threaten to make ruinous reappearances.

The wind was screaming tonight, and the waves crashed harsh and frighteningly familiar on the rock of their little island. Inside their little shack, the gale whistled in with a biting breath through any uncaulked space. They had had a sober supper of stew and leftover bread, silent and speaking in fits as they tried to ignore the tension brought by the storm. It was always a source of worry for Collins, Harry knew, seeing the ocean as rough as it was now. He did not know much of his fellow keeper’s life before the lighthouse, but he saw the care he took with his duty, the patterned rope-calluses on his hands. As for Harry himself, he had his own reasons to fear nights like these.

Now supper was over and they were sat by the hearth to pass time until they went to bed. Harry was trying to focus on his book, to some little effect. It was not his favorite to begin with - the theorems its author posited had been enthralling to him once, but he knew enough now to have lost faith in most of them - and now, with the noise of the upset sea all around, it was as good as a lost cause. 

A particularly loud sound of water meeting stone had him starting in his seat, shaking minutely as he recalled what had passed in another lifetime. How he wished he did not know the power of the ocean, the waves splintering wood, the great eye in the depths watching the fate of Harry’s crew with deserved malice…

Collins gave him a tired-looking smile from the corner armchair. “Just the wind, eh? Makes a rough sea, hope nobody’s haulin’ in tonight.” He frowned, and began a nervous tap upon the chair-leg with his heel. “Reckon we ought to check the fuel? Won’t do to run out before sunrise.”

Harry shook his head, managed to say, “It’ll hold, Henry, I checked before supper,” but his mind was far from his duty. His mind was out in the crashing surf with the wind howling over all, sinking further into the depths, dreading what he might find there. What might find him.

Collins sighed and levered himself up from his seat. “I’m for bed before I fall asleep here,” he said, giving Harry another smile and clapping the back of his chair on his way to the creaking stairs. Dear Collins, always so good-natured, even on these terrible nights. A large warm creature in their chilly little life, reliable and strong and somehow able to make Harry feel something approaching at ease. Knowing nothing, Harry reminded himself with a bitter regret, of what haunted Harry’s unquiet mind. “Douse the fire before you head up,” Collins tossed over his shoulder.

“Right,” Harry said vaguely, sparing a moment to glance at the low embers. They disquieted him, however, for reasons yet unknown to him. So he returned to staring out the rain-lashed window, though such a view had him always half-expecting to see glistening shapes unfurling out of the darkness to break his little sanctuary. If he were to be haunted, he would rather it be by a familiar phantom. 


End file.
